Among the Roses
by RadioActivHamster
Summary: The Marauders' first year at Hogwarts-rated for language. Part one of a (hopefully) seven part series.
1. Before you go further

Before You Go Any Further  
  
I'm not a dramatic writer, so this probably won't have the intended effect. Oh well. Bear with me.  
I'm hoping this, my very first fanfic EVER (not including all those sucky ones mocking people I know, and that really bad pokèmon one), so any feedback is welcome. This might be long. If you hate it, well, at least I got SOME reaction.  
It's going to be long-like, novel long. So, if you don't feel like reading something long, you might get bored. It's well worth it, though.  
  
Thanks,  
RadioActivHamster 


	2. The Beginning

Author's Note: Here's the very first chapter. Enjoy! Review! Help me make it better! And thanks SOOO much for taking the time to read me! You have no  
idea how wonderful you are!  
Disclaimer: This story is based off events and characters owned by J.K. Rowling and her publishers. No money is being made off of this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Any problems arising from the posting  
of the following story were unintended, and the author is deeply sorry.  
  
Chapter One  
The Beginning  
  
Disaster was written in the air. Humans were, once again, turning against their own kind, and assuming they knew best. Hundreds were butchered, innards lay along the ground, as if spelling out the declaration of "different shall not exist." And here the seeds were sown.  
So they lay in wait, dreaming of the day when the universe would deal them a better hand of cards. Many died, murdered for a cause in which they were not involved. They were angry, and ripe for a revolution, the fruit hanging from the branch, ready to be picked.  
And there it was, hidden between houses and playgrounds, urban to the point that it was almost painfully ironic. It was a rather unassuming slate-gray brick building, nothing to look twice at. It was fairly run- down, and out of place from the manicured lawns that speckled the street, and the ivy running up and down its sides would have been looked down upon by many a dedicated gardener, but if one were to ask the other inhabitants what lay inside of the building, none of this would matter. According to the people living on the street, it had ceased to exist, burnt down some twenty years ago in a horrid fire. It existed, although only in their minds.  
The betrayed gathered here sometimes, lacking purpose, debating for a few moments before journeying out to wreak some minor havoc. Things were chaotic, and no way to bring forth a change. But tonight was different. The beginning of a new time.  
The lights were on this night, and although the sky was calm and dark, stars speckling the horizon, the air warm and inviting, the windows seemed to glow eerie and cold. There was something odd about the building tonight, something one couldn't place. Shadows were cast upon the ground, and there were figures inside the building, all arguing, until one spoke out above the rest.  
"Call to order. Call to order." A rather oily man, short, with dark hair, a pointed face, and a somewhat nervous expression, rapped a wand down onto a brick of wood. "Attention, please."  
He gave off an aura of power, or at least as much power as one could have without actually having any followers, and the hubble slowly died down until he was the only one speaking.  
He cleared his throat and rapped the wand once again, for good measure. "The meeting is about to begin. Funtz, if you would care to read the minutes from our last one..."  
A rather drab man, gray suit, gray hair, gray eyes, gray skin, stepped up to the block of wood, and the oily man stepped down. He balanced a Muggle notepad against the block and began to read, slowly, clearly, and dully. "Seven-fifteen, roll call. Seven-eighteen, first order of business..."  
One by one, the others began to nod off, and Funtz was losing his audience. He cleared his throat and rapped his wand, causing a jolt to run through the audience members, and continued reading. "Eight-oh-eight..."  
When it seemed no more could politely pay attention, he ceased to speak, and instead, stepped aside for another man.  
This man, although younger, looking to be about twenty-four or twenty- five, seemed extremely confident. He strode up to the podium as if he was born to be there. And, also unlike the others, he was rather attractive, clad in a blood-red suit, with piercing, emerald eyes, a pleasing figure, and hair that fell just barely correctly into his face so it toed the line between messy and polished. As he took a deep breath, the audience pricked up its ears and moved to the edge of its seats in anticipation.  
He leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. "Um... We're gathered here today because we have... An... Um... Common purpose..."  
Ah, just another bad speaker. A collected breath was let out, and several members got up to leave. Some special guest speaker this was...  
"No. Wait." Substance had entered the voice, and this was not a plea, it was a command. "Hear me out. We have a common purpose, to rid ourselves of a common enemy, the Muggles."  
A mutual nod. The man seemed to be hitting his stride. "As you look around you, you see them everywhere... With our men, our women, our children. They are born lucky, born with power, not knowing how our forefathers fought for our rights, our lives... They do not know..."  
His voice was deep and loud, but it stuck in their heads and resounded like no mere human's voice could. He hit a note, deep down in each of their souls, and they listened. "They do not understand what we sacrificed. They do not deserve what we have! They are poisoning our blood, the blood that runs in every wizard's veins from Britain to around the world! They do not deserve to live!"  
He was shouting now, his voice a roar, speaking to each and every man and woman, as he bellowed out, "We must rid the world of Muggles! This is our duty! Our calling! So join me, as you must, as is your duty as a wizard! Do not fail me in my quest!"  
A roar rose from the crowd as they stood on their feet and applauded, thunderous noise reverberating through the floor and throughout the building, which creaked and threatened to crumble. "WE MUST FIGHT!"  
He punched the air, this last comment erupting from his throat as if the climax at the end of a story, the explosion of a monstrous volcano, the single, undeniable truth that lived in each of their hearts that they just couldn't hide. They were all the same, they all believed the same, they were one people, one voice, one life.  
He took another breath, tasting the sweet, sweet fruit, and he was lost in it. The power absorbed him. There was no turning back. "And now, we must go. We must rid the world of these vermin. Today begins a new era, the era of the Wizard!"  
The crowd cheered and stomped its feet, every atom in its being aching to follow this man. He was their inspiration, what they needed, and although they numbered a precious thirty, they were convinced that they alone could change the world.  
As he stepped down from the podium, a single word could be heard, silently whispered. The man's name, "Riddle... Riddle..."  
He stopped at the door, smiling, green eyes sparkling and glowing eerily in the florescent light, as if two flickering flames in their sockets. "Please. This is not a twisted tale. I must have another name..."  
Someone shouted, from deep inside of the crowd, a word of power, the name of a past great wizard. "Voldemort!"  
"Voldemort... Voldemort..." The crowd liked it, and they muttered it as they walked out, going to tell their friends and family... About this young man, with great dreams, this Voldemort...  
Perhaps it should not have been him. But it was, and neither world would ever be the same, for give direction to hatred, and it evolves and changes and multiplies. The dawn of a new era was upon them; the beginning had just begun. 


	3. A Picture's Worth A Thousand Words

Author's Note: I don't own anything. And if I did, I would be making money off of this. But I'm not. So please don't sue.  
  
Chapter Two  
The Portrait  
  
"SIRIUS! MAIL!"  
An eleven-year-old boy, medium height and build, with rather messy, dark hair, stumbled out of bed. He was rather ordinary looking, nothing special, save for his eyes, which were as bright and as blue as sapphires in his face. These were clouded over with sleep now, and were not as brilliant as usual.  
The call came again. "SIRIUS! MAIL!"  
He rubbed his eyes and yawned, nearly tripping over a pile of clothes at the foot of his bed. Swearing loudly, he kicked them aside, glaring at the mirror, which had said, "language, young master!"  
He pulled on a set of worn Quiddich robes and some slippers, still rubbing his eyes, yawning, and stretching. The call came again. "I'M COMING!"  
He stumbled sleepily down the stairs, absently ruffling his hair with the hand that wasn't trying (in vain) to keep his balance by way of a death grip on the railing. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sirius tripped over that stupid troll leg umbrella stand, as always. Someday, he vowed, he'd move that damn thing.  
He yawned again, walking past the house-elf heads on the wall, gazing up at them sleepily. They had always freaked him out, but today, he was too tired to care how scary or unjust those stupid heads were.  
Sirius turned into the kitchen, yawning and rumpling his hair absently again, nearly tripping over his younger brother, Regulus, who was munching on some toast while sitting in the doorway. A stream of tired curses uttered from his mouth, earning a hard look from both his mother at the table and the house-elf cooking at the stove.  
"Watch your mouth, mister." His mother reshuffled the Daily Prophet she was holding. Pointing her wand at Sirius's mouth, she muttered "scrougify," rather absently.  
Sirius dodged the curse, not particularly wishing for his mouth to be washed out with soap, and it hit the wall, leaving a pink, bubbly mark where it hit. He yawned again. "Mum? You said something about mail...?"  
She waved a hand towards his chair, and Sirius noticed the gray owl sitting on the back, clutching a rather thick, beige, parchment letter in its beak. He took the letter from it and it flew off through the open window above the sink.  
He slit it open and began to read the first piece of parchment silently, pulling out his chair with a foot and sitting down.  
"Who's it from?" Regulus looked up from his toast.  
"Some boarding school... Hogwarts..." He looked down the page. "I've been accepted."  
"That's nice, dear." His mother flipped the page of the paper. "Did I mention the meeting that your father and I went to last night? There was this wonderful speaker, Tom Riddle..."  
Sirius wasn't listening. "This looks interesting... All these new books! Mum, can I go to school here?"  
His mother stopped babbling for a moment and looked at him over her glasses. "Ask your father, dear."  
Sirius sighed and started on the plate of eggs that the house-elf placed in front of him. Somehow, he knew that was going to be her answer.  
  
***  
  
"Absolutely not! I forbid it!" Sirius's father's strong, deep voice came out of the kitchen. The door was closed, but he could still hear his parents arguing.  
"But Lester..." His mother's voice was a bit softer, a bit more under control. "It'll be such a wonderful opportunity for him. Besides, that Tom Riddle..."  
"Ah, now THERE'S a man with the right idea." Come to think of it, his father sounded rather drunk. "Not at all like Dumbledore, the muggle- lover. I don't want any son of mine going to a school with a headmaster like that..."  
"But... Children... Durmstrang... Better?" His mother's voice was softer now, and Sirius only caught snatches of conversation.  
He turned to the large family portrait adjacent from the door he was leaning against. There was his mother, half a foot shorter than her husband, hard, dark eyes shining with something akin to happiness but not quite. Her long, dark, wavy hair, done up in a bun every time Sirius had ever seen it, hung in waves down the back of her blood-red, medieval-style dress. A dark ruby hung on a gold chain around her neck, flashing as she moved her head and accentuating her rather ample bust. Her hands were on Sirius's father's arm, but she removed them and placed them on her tiny waist as he watched her. Her eyes darkened further still and she shook her head and glared at him in distaste, as if scolding him for eavesdropping.  
"No, Angela, what don't you understand about this?" Sirius's father was yelling, roaring, really. "I was going to homeschool him!"  
Sirius cringed at the thought. Homeschooling? With his father? He looked to the portrait again. His father stood on the left side of his mother, beetle-black eyes hard and unforgiving. His dark hair was perfectly parted on the side and slicked back, presumably with his 'Morgan's Ultra-Hold Hair Gel'. He was wearing long, black dress robes with a high collar that fit well around his tall, muscular frame. With one hand, he held a gold-topped cane; the other was bent for Sirius's mother. He frowned at Sirius, looking disappointed in even the thought that he might rebel against his family.  
"But Lester, it's what he wants!" Sirius's mother's voice came out strong from the kitchen.  
"FINE THEN!" His father stormed out the door, not even noticing Sirius, who was now sitting under the portrait, watching. "LET THE BOY DO WHAT HE WANTS! I. Don't. Care."  
He took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter; he'll still be who he is. It's not like he's Regulus."  
Sirius looked up at the third figure in the frame, his little brother. With the same dark eyes and hair as his father, they were practically copies of one another. They were even wearing matching robes. He had a smug grin on his face, and his father's hand rested on his shoulder as both parents looked fondly at their youngest son, the favorite.  
And there was Sirius, his piercing blue eyes standing out sharply from the rest of the family, although they were half hidden beneath the shock of hair falling into his eyes. He wore simple black robes and was sitting on the ground, as if not even in the portrait, leaning against the frame rather boredly. The forgotten son.  
Finally noticing their son, Sirius's father and mother turned to him. Sirius's mother cleared her throat and spoke, looking rather nervously at her husband. "We've decided, Sirius."  
"Yes?" He knew the answer.  
She cleared her throat again. "It's your decision, whatever you want."  
So they didn't care. Somehow, he knew that would happen, too. 


	4. Just Like Family

A/N: I don't own anything, and I'm not making any money, so please don't sue.  
  
Chapter Three  
Just Like Family  
  
"Don't worry, Elladora, Narcissa and Bellatrix will be fine. Honestly, Lester won't mind." Sirius's mother's voice wafted in from the living room, where she was bent over a green fire with a blond woman's head in it.  
"Thank you so much, Angela," Elladora, Sirius's aunt, replied, sounding rather stressed. "I don't know what I'd do without you, we just can't make it to the train... I feel so bad, what with Bella's first year and all..."  
"Don't feel bad. We'll treat them like our own. They'll be fine."  
Sirius snorted from the entrance hall, where he was prodding one of the portraits of himself to wake it up. Yes, his cousins would be fine. Blond Narcissa would be worshipped for her beauty, and raven-haired Bellatrix would be treated like the daughter his mother had never had. It wasn't them that he was worried about, it was himself.  
It was a pity Andromeda wasn't going off to school; she was his favorite cousin and would certainly make the train ride fun. According to many relatives, they were quite the pair of mischief-makers. At least that's what they said to put it politely.  
"No, just send them along with their trunks tomorrow. We'll take a Portkey; Lester has a connection in the office."  
His father worked for the Ministry of Magic, as Senior Assistant to the Minister, and he had a lot of influence. It was practically impossible for him to not have connections. He could probably get away with murder, with the people he knew.  
"No, REALLY, Elladora, it's no problem! Send them over about eight tonight; they can sleep over." She sounded rather exasperated.  
"Mum," came a familiar voice, "can I sleep over too?"  
Sirius went to the door, hearing Andromeda's voice. "Mum? Can she?"  
Angela Black looked over to her son, glaring at him, mouthing, 'stop it, Sirius.' She turned back to the fire. "Um..."  
"Wonderful." Elladora grinned. "I'll send the three of them over. You can send Andromeda back after you drop the others off... Thanks so much, Angela."  
"No problem," she sighed. "I suppose I'll see you tonight, then."  
"Goodbye." Elladora's head disappeared with a small pop, and Angela Black looked to her son.  
"I can't believe you did that. I'm having Narcissa and Bella as a favor to Elladora, and Andromeda didn't need to come! She's a nightmare!"  
Sirius just grinned.  
She threw up her hands in frustration. "Go ready the guest room, then go to your room. Andromeda's sleeping in your bed, you'll have to sleep on the floor."  
"And no magic!" She shouted at his retreating back. "Or making the house-elf do it for you!"  
'Damn,' thought Sirius. She must've found out what he was doing with his new wand. And about the house-elf.  
Even still, Andromeda was coming, and that was worth a punishment any day. Sirius was still smiling, even as he began to scrub the bathroom. By hand.  
  
***  
  
The doorbell rang as Sirius was just collapsing onto his bed in exhaustion, muscles aching from scrubbing the filthy bathrooms. He groaned and rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head.  
Muffled voices came from downstairs, then muffled footsteps, and then his whole bed bounced as his brunette, curly-haired cousin wrenched the pillow off of his head and enveloped him in a hug. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead!"  
Andromeda's green eyes were shining in happiness, her entire face split in a grin. The baby of the family, she didn't look like pretty Narcissa or elegant Bellatrix, the smattering of freckles and chubby babyface made sure of that. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, but some strands still managed to pull free and form a sort of golden halo around her face. All an illusion, though, as she was as big a troublemaker as she could be without being arrested.  
Two years younger and six inches shorter, she was catching up quick. Soon, she'd be taller than her cousin... Except he'd be at school and wouldn't see her...  
A smack with the pillow brought him out of his daydream. "Hello to you too."  
"Hey, Andromeda." He sat up and winced at the pain in his muscles, but grinned as Andromeda bounced on the balls of her feet.  
She stopped and sat down backwards on a chair opposite him. "So."  
"Yep." Sirius grinned at her and put the pillow back on the bed.  
"Bella and Cissa are here."  
"Yep." Not a pleasant thought.  
"So. What do you want to do to them first?"  
Sirius grinned, although it was a bit painful. He was really going to miss her.  
Andromeda seemed to sense this. "Hey, don't go all sentimental on me. Let's go wreak some havoc before you're off to prison."  
"Right." He reached under his bed and pulled out a bag of tricks. "I thought we could start with some Dungbombs, and then..."  
Andromeda interrupted him, opening her suitcase and beginning to pull things out. "Amateur. Didn't I teach you anything?"  
At least they'd go out with a bang.  
  
***  
  
It was late; the stars were peeking out from behind a curtain of darkness, moonlight shining on Sirius and Andromeda sitting on Sirius's bedroom floor, still wide awake and talking.  
"And then, Bella goes, 'what's that?' And I say, 'it's your new set of dress robes, don't you like them?'" Andromeda burst into giggles, rolling on the floor.  
Sirius grinned weakly at her and forced a laugh. "That's funny..."  
She promptly stopped laughing and sat up, watching him. "Sirius? Something wrong?"  
He shook his head, eyes feeling unusually misty. "It's nothing..."  
"That's not true, you're tearing up." She wrapped her arms around her knees. "You can tell me. We're cousins. We can tell each other anything."  
He swallowed, hard, trying not to cry. Why was he getting so choked up?  
Andromeda seemed to sense this, and quickly changed the subject back. "Oh, Cissa was so mad when she saw what I did to hers..."  
Suddenly, he did feel like talking. "Andromeda?"  
"Yup?" She stopped mid-sentence.  
"We'll still see each other, right?"  
"On holidays, sure, and during the summer..." She blinked. "Why?"  
A lightbulb seemed to go on inside of her head. "OH! I get it now."  
"What." He sure didn't.  
"You're sad because we won't see each other that much." She snickered. "Is your cousin your best friend?"  
Sirius forced another laugh. "Of course not, I'm not that sad..."  
Was he, though? Andromeda was the only person he really liked, not that he could meet too many others. With his parents' pure-blood delusions and paranoid notions, he didn't meet too many new people, and family gatherings seemed to be the only place to hang out with other kids... And all of his other cousins were just like his parents: narcissistic, believing that being a Black made you royalty, and thinking that children should be seen, not heard...  
Andromeda shoved something into his hands, bursting his daydream like a soap bubble. "Here, open this when you're on the train."  
Sirius went to unwrap it, but she folded the edges back down. "I'm serious, Sirius. All puns intended. Don't open that until you're on the train."  
Andromeda grinned and pulled up her covers around her head. "Let's get some sleep; it's getting late, and you've got your very first day of school tomorrow. Shall I tuck you in?"  
Sirius protested half-heartedly as his cousin climbed out of his bed ('No, Sirius, there's NO WAY I'm sleeping on the floor! You heard your mum...') and arranged his covers around his head. "Andromeda..."  
"Shhh... Get some sleep." She grinned, climbing back into bed.  
They sat in darkness for a while, before Andromeda turned to him again.  
"Sirius?"  
"Hm?"  
"You're my best friend, too." 


End file.
